


just add some friction

by cherryconke



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 11:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21319168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryconke/pseuds/cherryconke
Summary: He can’t help the gasp he lets out, eyes watering as he stares back into whiskey pools, heavy lidded as they watch him bite his lip and squirm closer into his touch.“You feel it too.”–Or, Felix finds his soulmate.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 24
Kudos: 439





	just add some friction

_ I’m the powder you’re the fuse, _

_ Just add some friction. _

_ – _

The shop bell tinkles noisily where the door hits it, chiming bright over the low static of whatever station is playing on the speakers. Felix finishes out his latest brush stroke with a steady hand, not bothering to raise his eyes from the slip of tracing paper he’s doodling on. “Welcome to Blue Lions Tattoo,” he calls out towards the door. 

“Hi,” the new arrival says, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he approaches the counter. Felix lifts his gaze up to slip over him with a quirked brow. _ He’s pretty cute for a redhead, _his brain supplies unhelpfully before taking in the rest of his appearance. He’s tall, taller than Felix by far, with broad shoulders and a lean waist. A shock of unruly red hair falls over one of his eyes, liquid hazel connecting with his own. He’s standing at the counter now, close enough for Felix to see a spatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose, a half-moon impression of a single dimple shining through his lopsided smile.

“Hi,” he deadpans back, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a tiny ghost of a smile as the other man reaches across the counter, offering a handshake. So _ formal _. Felix takes his hand bemusedly. It’s warm and huge, his softly calloused palm engulfing his own. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No… no.” Oh, he’s nervous, evident in the way he ducks his head bashfully, ruffling long fingers through bright, shaggy hair. Felix just watches him from his spot perched upon the stool on the opposite side of the counter, fighting to keep a full-fledged smile from breaking out across his face. “I, uh– I was hoping to get something covered up.”

_ Really? _ Felix’s internal voice drawls, just a bit incredulous – he doesn’t see any ink peeking out from his collars or sleeves, his skin smooth and unmarred.

Okay, so he’s _ definitely _ blushing under his gaze now. “Sure. I’m the only one here today, so… take a look at my book and let me know if anything catches your eye.” He tips his head over to the thick binder open on the opposite end of the counter. Sylvain nods a murmured _ thanks_, running his giant hand through his hair, artfully disheveled, once more before moving away.

Felix bends back down to his sketch, twirling the brush pen through his fingers deftly as he mulls over the composition, trying to figure out what’s missing. His teeth chew unconsciously at his lower lip as he does so.

“Woah. These are like… really good.” The redhead looks up, an excited smile crinkling the dimple in his cheek as he pores over one of his more recent pages – weeping blooms of peonies and eucalyptus twining around a short dagger. Felix returns the smile before he realizes what he’s doing, a faint blush heating his cheeks as he does so.

“Oh. Thanks.” 

He puts the pen down on top of his sketch, thoroughly distracted now. 

“I’m Felix, by the way,” he offers, just a teeny bit transfixed at the sight of the man tracing a lone fingertip over the sinuous curve of a twisting snake. His hands are… huge. Felix can barely stop himself from drooling over them. 

The smile he beams at him is nearly blinding in its earnestness. “Sylvain.”

Felix turns it over in his mind, silently forming the letters on his tongue as the man – Sylvain – flips to another plasticky page of flowers and weapons.

“Nice to meet you,” he replies, suddenly remembering his manners. He stands from the stool, leaning against the counter across from where Sylvain’s bent over the binder, studying each piece with interest. “Anything catch your eye?”

Hazel eyes flash up to meet his, searing heat, looking nothing like the nervous guy who entered his shop just moments ago. His expression is hungry, heady, _ hot_. The intensity of it nearly knocks the breath out of his lungs. He shivers back in response, a hot flash of electricity tingling down his arms.

“Yeah. I think this’ll do.” He points down to a larger piece on the page, maintaining eye contact, setting Felix aflame with his gaze.

“O-Okay,” he stutters out, unthinking, tongue stumbling as he finally gathers his wits to break his eyes away from Sylvain’s. He can feel the heat flushed across his cheeks, blushing like a teenager after his crush. _ What the fuck is this guy doing to him? _

His fingers tremble just a little as he pulls the sheet of paper loose from its plastic protector, finally taking a moment to look down at the tattoo Sylvain picked. Forget-me-nots have always been his favorite flower to draw – he was drawing them since before he started tattooing, actually – but few-people ever opted to get one, picking flashier blooms over their understated resiliency. 

“Cool.” He’s so, so relieved that his voice hasn’t completely cracked yet. “So, where’s it going?”

This question pulls the first half-frown he’s seen from him so far, and he immediately wishes he could take it back, the compulsion to make him smile, to make him laugh, surging through his chest in a hot wave of emotion. What the _ hell? _

Sylvain’s hands come up to pull the collar of his fleece-lined denim jacket away from his neck. Felix swallows thickly, willing away the heat from his cheeks.

“Here,” he says, voice a little flat as he turns his head, baring the supple curve of his throat towards Felix, pointing to the thin, nearly straight dark blue line curving down his neck. 

Felix recognizes it immediately for what it is: not a tattoo, but a soulmark. His own lies stretched across his shoulder, a wavy maroon line that looks almost like a scar in the right light. Sylvain’s is slightly raised, just like his, just like all soulmarks.

He’s done tattoos around soulmarks before – not that many, but a handful, usually marking initials or names into besotted couples. He’d smile and bear it well, nodding along to their stories of how they’d found out, where they were, how happy and completely in _ love _ they were, as he stabbed a needle into them thousands of times, permanently etching devotion into their skin. He’d come home at night to trace a finger over the cap on his shoulder in the mirror, feeling nothing but the pad of his thumb against slightly raised flesh.

A number of red flags go off in his head as he stares at the navy line, thin where it disappears beneath his collar. One: the way Sylvain worded his request threw him off – people didn’t _cover_ _up_ their soulmarks. They adorned them, sure, but nobody had ever asked him to _cover one up_. Two: Sylvain came in alone. All of the soulmark tattoos he’d ever done consisted of a couple, usually attached at the hip, chirping and trilling about their love all over his shop.

“Ah,” he says, sucking his teeth. “Okay. Come on back.”

Sylvain’s expression falters, looking a little confused. “You– you aren’t gonna ask me why I’m covering it up?”

Felix huffs an amused laugh through his nose. Covering up a soulmark may be new territory for him, but the amount of absurd ideas he’d etched permanently into skin over the past few years was _ staggering _. 

He shrugs offhandedly, pushing the little swinging half-gate door open, ushering Sylvain through. “I’m all ears, but I try not to pry,” he admits, guiding him back his station, a little room papered floor to ceiling with drawings, magazine clippings, polaroid photos, bits and scraps of inspiration. Sylvain sits down on the table as he readies himself, pulling out the right supplies with practiced hands. 

“So you want it totally covered up…?” he trails off, hesitant. The obvious is implied by what he’s asking: covering up a soulmark completely would make it horribly difficult to find his soulmate. It was already difficult enough to find your match without covering it ink – which, typically, is the exact opposite of what most people yearn for. 

Sylvain hums his assent, nodding as he brings a hand to trace up and down the mark absentmindedly. Something about the shape of it, the way it cascades down his neck beneath the crew collar of his white t-shirt, feels strangely familiar. 

Felix turns back to his station, lining up all the tiny pieces and parts – ink, needles, machine, stencil – meticulously on the saran-wrapped surface. Sylvain’s voice floats over to him, melancholic. 

“I’m just so sick of everyone asking, you know?”

His eyes flick over to where Sylvain’s perched on the table, rubbing at his neck with a wistful expression on his face. He’s boyishly handsome, even now, brows furrowed and lips twisted into a small pout. He thinks of his own mark and how he’s never felt anything even close to what people describe: electricity, fireworks, _ bliss _ . Finding your soulmate was hard and _ rare, _ it really only happened by chance. 

It had been easier to give up early rather than keep a feeble hope alive for the rest of his life. And, if he was totally honest, thinking about the future didn’t hurt as much as it used to. The uncertainty and pain had been dulled by throwing himself into his passions with near-frantic fervor. Still, though, he’s not completely heartless. It does still sting, even if only a little bit, when people ask. He gets it.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Sylvain gives him a sheepish smile, crooked dimple and all. Felix vehemently pushes down the bubble of heat curling in his chest at the sight of it. “Thanks. For understanding.”

He makes him feel put on the spot, somehow – this near stranger being so vulnerable and intimate with him right out of the gate. He clears his throat, swallowing down the butterflies forming there, and takes a deep breath before moving towards him.

Brown eyes, sweet as honey and sharp as whiskey, watch him with interest as he nudges Sylvain’s chin to the left with just the barest touch of his hand. The redhead complies easily, letting his head fall to the side to expose that long, navy line. 

Now that he’s closer, he can see how nearly-straight it is – hitching over the sharp bone of collarbone before disappearing under his jacket. 

“Mm… how far down…?” he asks, holding up the stencil a few inches away from his neck to eyeball the placement. 

“Oh. Sorry,” Sylvain’s breath is hot against his shoulder before he moves away to peel off his jean jacket. His t-shirt comes next, and Felix does his best to keep his jaw in place as he’s greeted with the lovely sight of broad shoulders, toned muscles, and a huge expanse of tanned, freckled skin. 

“That’s probably better, huh?” Sylvain laughs nervously, the sweet melodic sound sending shivers down his spine. He pushes an errant lock of auburn off his soulmark, exposing his neck once more. 

Felix swallows, a little thicker this time, not quite trusting himself to _ not _ say something stupid. He’s tattooed all sorts of bodies before, and never before has the sight of skin made him dizzy like this. 

“Yeah. If you could lie down,” he starts, but Sylvain’s complying before he can finish. All of a sudden Felix is perched over him on his stool, fingers brushing whisper-close to his skin as he directs his chin away from him gently. 

His eyes flick up, and he shouldn’t have done that, _ not at all_, because Sylvain’s eyes, pupils blown wide around a thin ring of hazel, are piercing his in the mirror that spans from floor to ceiling. 

_ Holy shit, Felix, get yourself under control_. His eyes snap back down to him, trying to ignore the burning gaze of Sylvain watching him like a hawk. He only fumbles a little with the stencil as he lays it against his throat. The warm rhythm of Sylvain’s heartbeat thrums through the paper-thin tracing sheet as he adjusts it. 

“Alright. Stay… right… There.”

Felix grabs the alcohol from his workbench, soaking a cottonball in it before he moves to swab it over the stencil. He’s hyper aware of Sylvain’s body beneath him, the way he shivers lightly at the cold press against his neck. Keeping his eyes down, watching the purple ink transfer from the paper to Sylvain’s neck, is his only option – he thinks he could combust right here, right now if he caught Sylvain’s eyes again. 

Thoroughly soaked, he peels off the now-damp paper, revealing the reversed image on his skin. Tiny blooms of forget-me-notes trail across the column of his neck, wrapping nearly up to his chin. A large lilac stem overlays most of his soulmark, and offshoots of daisies spring from behind the lilac petals. It looks good – a little bit out of place on his unblemished skin, but good.

He only allows himself to linger on the sight of Sylvain below him for a few extra moments, his chiseled profile stark against the black leather of the tattoo table. “Okay, take a look.”

Sylvain’s face breaks into a stupidly handsome smile as he turns to sit up on the table, examining his neck in the full-length mirror. Felix catches himself watching Sylvain in the reflection, eyes drinking him in greedily now that his gaze isn’t pinned on him.

“Is it okay?” He asks, willing himself to push more confidence and less hope in his voice after the words leave his mouth. _ I’m a professional, I’m a professional, _he chants internally, resisting the urge to run his hands down the sculpted plane of Sylvain’s back. 

“Yeah. Perfect.” 

He grins at him through the mirror’s reflection before turning back on the table, repositioning himself back into lying down. His arms fold behind his head, pillowing himself on muscle. Felix can’t help but smile bemusedly at his enthusiasm. Leaning closer, he sees the stencil’s purple ink has smudged a bit in places, blurry where the tip of a leaf folds across his mark. Reaching out, he brushes the pad of his thumb over the raised skin, attempting to wipe it away.

Two things happen in very quick succession.

First: Sylvain jumps beneath him, snapping his head towards him so lightning fast Felix is stunned he didn’t tweak anything as his palms grip into the black leather of the table, knuckles white.

Second: He pulls his hand back as if burnt, confused at his reaction.

“Did you start?” Sylvain’s question comes out a little squeaky, a little high-pitched. Felix stares down at him dumbly, trying to reconcile his actions with the sharp look in Sylvain’s eyes.

“No, I’m just cleaning up a smudge. I… I’ll tell you before I start.”

Sylvain lets out a breathless, shaky laugh, relaxing back down onto the table. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little nervous.” 

Felix’s heart rate slowly returns to normal as the spike of adrenaline fades to a dull throb. “Okay,” he breathes out, a feeble attempt at grounding himself and soothing his nerves.

When he reaches back to the mark to wipe away the smeared ink, Sylvain twitches again, albeit much less violently. Both of them seem to anticipate it – Felix alert and tense above him, Sylvain fighting to stay still as a statue beneath him.

Within seconds, though, Sylvain is relaxing into his touch. Felix swears he can hear a contented, breathy sigh leave his lips, barely audible from where he leans over him. As he dabs at the outlines with the pads of his fingers, he determinedly tries to ignore how sweet it sounds coming from his lips.

A tiny, distinct whine sounds from the redhead as he scrapes away a small blot of ink from where his soulmark stops, right above his heart. It’s too loud to brush under the rug. Felix tilts his head, fingers still resting against his pulse, concern creasing his brows to meet in the middle. 

“Hey, you alright?”

Sylvain’s eyes are glassy beneath him, looking flushed out and overwhelmed. His freckled cheeks are stained red, a ruddy blush spreading down his neck and chest. His pulse quickens beneath his touch, beating erratically. Felix himself grows flushed under the high collar of his turtleneck, palms sweating as he looks down at Sylvain. 

“Yea– yeah,” Sylvain sounds breathless, honey eyes dazed and out of focused where they connect with his. Felix has had clients range the gamut of how their bodies respond to tattoos – everything from crying, to nearly passing out, to sitting still as a stone and falling asleep. It’s weird, though, Sylvain’s involuntary reaction – he hasn’t even picked up the needle yet. 

Sylvain’s lower lip gives a shuddering quiver when he leans down to tidy up one more smear, squirming beneath his touch. Felix pulls back, satisfied with the tidiness of the outline now, giving him a cursory glance up and down, which is when he sees–

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

The bulge in Sylvain’s pants is… well, it’s noticeable. Extremely so. Hazel eyes flick to meet amber, the sharp shine of panic reflected back at him. A curl of arousal licks through his insides, slow and warm, as the sight below him. 

“Ah, um–“ Felix clears his throat, taking two steps backwards as he tries to avert his eyes. His brain is traitorous, filled with a tumble of colorful ideas of what he’d like to do to him. A blush spreads down his cheeks instantly, feeling like the thermostat has been cranked all the way up. 

“Shit, sorry, I–“ Sylvain sounds completely, totally flustered, “I– uh, I don’t know what’s–“

“Um, the restroom is in the back, if you– if you need it,” he manages to mumble, stuttering on every third word. He scrubs a hand through his hair, that nervous habit he’d never quite managed to kick. 

Sylvain moves, jerky, face bright red as he sits up, swinging his legs to dangle off the table. “I’m so sorry,” he manages to squeak out, looking miserably embarrassed. God, he’s cute, even like this. Especially like this. 

“Your, uh. Your fingers are so warm,” he mumbles, watching with half-lidded eyes as Felix presses the inside of his wrist to his forehead. He can’t tell if there’s a temperature difference between the two, but he _ feels _ hot and feverish, all over his body. 

They stare at each other for a few moments before something clicks sharply into place in Felix’s brain. His stomach abruptly plummets through the floor at the realization, feeling like he’s stuck in free fall. His feet carry him, of their own accord, slowly back towards Sylvain, coming close enough he can feel the heat radiating off his knees against the front of his thighs. The redhead’s eyes flash at him, looking equal parts terrified and turned on as Felix reaches up to his mark. 

Time slows down in the moments leading up to when his fingertips connect with the hot skin of Sylvain’s neck. Felix feels nothing but the scrape of flesh on flesh, but here, like this, staring into Sylvain’s eyes, he can visibly tell the redhead is anything but unaffected. He’s close enough to hear the sharp, quick inhale of breath between his teeth, to watch the way he trembles beneath his touch, tilting his chin up, barely pressing his neck into Felix’s fingers, seeking friction.

He watches with fascination as Sylvain’s mouth falls open, panting now as he digs his thumb further into his pulse point. When Sylvain opens his eyes back up, his expression is flushed and dazed. The look he gives him – brows knitted together, mouth agape, lips glistening – is downright sinful. 

Felix’s hand falls from the side of Sylvain’s neck, taking a half step back, mind wheeling yet somehow completely, blissfully blank as they stare into each other’s eyes. Sylvain’s breathing evens out, finally catching his breath. His lips slide into a small smile of wonder and awe.

“It’s you,” Sylvain murmurs, his voice soft and full of fondness as he reaches his hand up, cradling his jaw, tentative. Felix has never felt more scared or sure in his life when Sylvain’s fingertips graze over his neck, sliding up to cradle the side of his face. _ Is this real? _

There’s only one way to find out. 

He doesn’t break eye contact as he tugs at the frayed edge of his turtleneck, slipping it over his head to reveal pale skin adorned with ink – the dagger slicing down his back, the snake dancing across his hip and spine, birds and flowers wrapping him up in muted blue-black. Nearly everywhere is covered, except for his shoulder – the left one, bare aside from the curve of his mark. 

His world crashes around him when he realizes that the burnt sienna of his mark matches the exact shade of Sylvain’s hair. Sylvain sees it too, a flurry of emotions whirling across his face. One of his hands, huge and warm, comes to wrap around his hip, familiar and comforting. The other reaches up, and his fingers are so close, and Felix feels his body give a little shiver of anticipation as–

Stars burst behind his eyelids, waves of pure serotonin smacking his bloodstream; flooding throughout him. It feels like he’s floating, the only thing tethering him to this planet the hot rub of Sylvain’s fingers against his mark. He can’t help the gasp he lets out, eyes watering as he stares back into whiskey pools, heavy lidded as they watch him bite his lip and squirm closer into his touch. 

“You feel it too.”

It’s not a question, but Felix answers anyway, nodding as he takes a step closer into the cage of Sylvain’s thighs, tipping his chin up with the gentle nudge of his fingers. Sylvain’s fingers fall from his shoulder, slipping between his arm and his ribs to pull him close. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, barely daring to blink. Their foreheads are nearly touching, Sylvain’s breath washing hot over his lips. The way his tongue darts out to moisten them makes Felix feel completely unhinged, bold in ways he’s never been before. “Can I kiss you?” He asks, tentatively, feeling breathless as he runs a hand over the side of his face, thumbing his unruly hair away. 

Sylvain doesn’t answer, not in words anyway. 

Their first kiss is tentative and gentle, lips barely daring to trace over the others. Soon Felix is leaning into him, quickly giving way to a hot slick mess, each of them melting into the other. Sylvain’s hands burn where they sear across his bare skin, sliding up to wrap him closer, tracing the curves and ridges of his outline with near-reverence. Felix’s hands snake up to his jaw, cradling him there beneath him, somehow feeling so broken yet so, so whole. 

Sylvain’s hands clutch against the small of his back, nails digging into him _ just right, _and God he isn’t embarrassed, not even a little bit, when he presses a moan, soft and throaty, into the wet heat of Sylvain’s mouth. His thighs dig into Sylvain, who’s pulling him unbearably close, making up for years of lost time as their kisses turn sloppy and frantic. He can’t bring himself to break their kiss as he pushes himself into Sylvain’s lap, bringing his knees up and around to straddle him, reveling in the way he fits so perfectly within him, his missing puzzle piece brought to life in the form of sweetness incarnate. 

The weight of their chests together makes Felix dizzy ‘til he’s gasping for breath, breaking away to let his forehead press against Sylvain’s. His pupils are blown, wide eyed as he stares back at him. 

“I– it’s you,” Sylvain repeats. Felix feels his brows furrow against him, face crumpling as realization dawns on him. “Fuck, I was going to cover it up, _ fuck– _“

Felix silences him with a kiss, sharp and searing across his lips, fingers threading through auburn locks, flipping out in a way that reminds him so much of the line on his own shoulder. “Shh. Stop talking.” Maybe not the most romantic line, but Sylvain swallows the rest of his thought, whimpering against the firmness of the kiss. 

Sylvain rocks up beneath him, and he struggles to hold onto a single coherent thought. Felix’s brain short-circuits and he grabs wherever he can find purchase, the curve of his thumb and forefinger hooking where Sylvain’s neck meets his shoulder, overlapping right over his mark, smudging purple ink–

“Oh, _ Fe– _“

The nickname rolls off Sylvain’s tongue, smooth as silk against Felix’s ears, like they’ve known each other their whole life, like he’s never been called anything different. Sylvain bucks up into him, unashamedly grinding against him as he bites down on Felix’s lower lip. This, in turn, coaxes a throaty moan out of him, loud in the air, humming with the staticky sounds of neon buzzing and the radio fizzling out.

Sylvain’s hand returns the favor, rubbing firm over the raised red streak on his shoulder, and oh _ fuck _: a spark catches to light a fuse he didn’t know he had in him. The full-body shudders that wrack him from somewhere deep in his stomach has Felix pressing more insistently into him, pushing against his shoulders til he’s flat on the table. Felix leans back, hips bracketing Sylvain’s stomach, to take in the sight before him. 

And God, what a sight it is, red hair framing his freckled face, lips swollen and slick with both of their spit. His gaze is nearly all pupil now, smoldering beneath his fanned out lashes, unfairly long. Thick arms come up to frame the sides of Felix’s face, bringing him back down into his embrace. 

Felix stops short of his lips, pinning a hand to either side of Sylvain’s face. He stares down at the dark blue mark, the line that matches his hair nearly perfectly. The tattoo stencil is completely fucked by now, smeared to a lavender blur around his neck. Dipping his head down to exhale hotly against him, Sylvain bucks his hips up into him, rough and relentless.

The moan tumbling from Sylvain’s lips is loud and wanton when Felix suckles over the throb of his pulse, licking a wet stripe over his mark. Sylvain’s hands, hot and huge, are all over him – fisting through his hair, palming his ass, gripping at his hips – frantic and scrabbling against his seams. 

Watching Sylvain come undone beneath him, _ because _ of him, feels nearly as good as Sylvain’s fingertips crackling like lightning down his shoulder, drawing forth a shuddering gasp straight from the back of his throat. He’s panting, breath coming out in short bursts against Sylvain’s mark. 

“Nngh, _ Syl– _ “ his eyes roll into the back of his head, vision blurring violently as Sylvain’s hand connects with his cock, rubbing him through the friction of his jeans. His forehead hits hard against Sylvain’s freckled neck as he completely melts into him, chests pressed together so sweetly. He grinds his hips down desperately, Sylvain’s hand trapped between their bodies but he doesn’t seem to mind, whispering nonsense into Felix’s ear: _ “Sweetheart, you feel so good, fuck, wanna touch you, wanna see you–” _

His breathless ramblings set off a fire within him, which is somehow enough to pry himself off of the broad expanse of Sylvain’s chest, shimmying down him. Molten hazel follows his movements, burning beneath that fringe of auburn, as he plucks at the front of Sylvain’s pants, clearly tented up from his arousal, snapping the elastic band of his joggers against the sinewy muscle of his stomach.

“Fee, please, _ please– _”

The sounds of Sylvain begging – well, Felix has never heard anything so sweet. He glances up, amber eyes locking onto hazel as he tugs his waistband down. Sylvain’s weeping cock juts up against his stomach, straining and hard and _ fuck, _ kind of, well, _ huge_. He pauses, tongue darting out to run across the seam of his lips, fingertips tracing lightly against his hip bone. Sylvain looks so enraptured Felix can’t help the blush creeping across his chest, unused to such an intense gaze of attention directed solely at him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful,” Sylvain breathes out – tenderly, sweetly, sending a hot rush of emotion through Felix’s throat, one that feels eerily similar to when he’s about to cry. Sylvain’s words of praise hit an untouched nerve within him, one that sings out with euphoria every time honeyed words pass his lips. A high whine pitches in his throat, one that reverberates through his chest as he laps his tongue over Sylvain’s cock, lips spit-slick as he kisses down the length of him, wet and hot and all the things he craves.

“Felix, fuck, _ ohmygod–” _Felix squirms against him as Sylvain’s hand passes over his mark, fingernails scraping against him in the most agonizingly delicious way. His mark burns hot, almost unbearably so, a deep pool of arousal and heat flooding him, drowning him. He refocuses back down on him, eyes squeezing shut as he parts his lips, taking the head of Sylvain’s cock into his mouth.

He sucks, hollowing his cheeks, driven to wanton desperation by the sight of Sylvain below him clutching at his shoulder. His hand rises to grip the base of him, forming a tight ring, sliding a sloppy layer of spit down his cock. The pressure of Sylvain’s fingertips on him are starting to feel like too much, his head swimming with overwhelming desire, shuddering and unable to do more than slide his tongue messily over his slit. He sighs with relief and resumes his task as Sylvain’s fingers move from his shoulder to his hair, fisting through his tangled bun.

His other hand, the one that isn’t busy with his cock, slides up chiseled muscle and sinewy ligament towards his heart, stopping just short of that dark blue line. Sylvain’s back arches up into his mouth, brows knit tight, gasping for air in anticipation of–

Felix’s fingers land true, pressing insistently down into his chest, rubbing over the mark, the one that brought them together, the mirror of his own. The resounding wail echoes through his ears, overwhelmed and needy, and Sylvain’s chanting the best song he’s ever heard, the one that consists of his name and his alone.

He moans back as Sylvain’s cock twitches in his hand, shooting his release to paint messily over Felix’s lips and neck as he jerks him to completion. Mindful of the shuddering convulsions wracking through the other’s body, he lets his fingers dance low and away from his sensitive mark, curling steadily around his hip as he keens into him. 

His shudders subside, and Felix rests his cheek against Sylvain’s thigh, tongue darting out to lick a stripe of cum off him, salty sweet. Little whimpers leave Sylvain’s lips as he hauls him back up his body, pressing them together in a sticky embrace. Although he’s still throbbing, pent up in his jeans against Sylvain’s hip, he’s never felt more at peace as when Sylvain’s hand curves to cradle his neck, pressing their foreheads together, like he’s something special, something precious.

“Gods, Fe,” he whispers, setting his blush aflame again, heart skipping at the tender nickname. Sylvain’s eyes are watery when he kisses him, soft and slow and sweet. He sighs into him, feeling overwhelmed, oddly satiated given how horny he was – still is, actually. 

It hits him then: how odd it is that he’s here, half-sprawled atop a near stranger, having just sucked his cock – on his own _ tattoo table _ no less. But after a lifetime of doubting everything, of shielding himself from everyone else, nothing has ever felt so completely, totally _ right. _

“Hey,” Sylvain’s voice ghosts across the shell of his ear, and he feels him shift beneath him, tucking himself back into his joggers. “Let me take care of you.” Those words nearly undo him right then and there – _ has he ever heard anyone say that to him before? _ He can’t help the weak, pitiful moan that leaves his lips, twitching his hips the tiniest bit to gain friction. 

“Mm.” He nods against his hair, lashes fluttering and catching in the flyaway strands. Eyes squeezed shut, he revels in the way Sylvain’s mouth moves down him, sucking into all his soft, sensitive spots, somehow knowing exactly which buttons to press to make him feel absolutely divine. 

He whines at the loss of contact when Sylvain peels himself from beneath him, rearranging them so Felix is splayed out on the table and he’s hovering over him, pinning him beneath the strong bracket of his arms. Swollen, kiss-bitten lips move over his cheeks, his nose, his lips, tracing the blush there with tongue and teeth. 

“I’ve got you,” Sylvain murmurs into his skin, nosing his way down to his chest. His words of comfort and praise make Felix feel like his heart is going to bubble over and explode. Here, like this, he could listen to Sylvain’s sweet nothings forever. 

A sharp cry rings through the air when one of Sylvain’s hands, huge, nearly spanning the width of his stomach, palms over his still-clothed cock. His hips buck up, desperately pressing into the heel of his palm as whimpers pour from his lips. 

“Gonna take care of you, sweetheart.” He’s needy and unbelievably horny yet somehow completely trusting of Sylvain as he moves down the length of his body, cradling his hips and stroking over the crotch of his jeans simultaneously. 

“Please, please, Syl–“ the nickname springs unbidden from his lips, but nothing has ever felt more right in his life. Thank God he isn’t touching his mark, because he already feels on the verge of his peak, as if one little touch or kiss will knock him over the edge.

“I’ve got you,” Sylvain whispers across the skin of his stomach, teeth scraping down his hip. Deft fingers push the single button through its loop, moving on to pinch at the seam of the zipper. He shimmies his hips, helping him where he can, needy to get this show on the road.

Sylvain doesn’t even have to ask how he likes it – that knowledge is clearly already ingrained in his mind, the sweet curse of soulmates – as he pushes his boxers down with an edge of roughness. 

“Look at you, you’re perfect,” Sylvain’s sweet rhapsodizing over him floats up to his ears, hazy and faint. His breath hitches in his chest, feeling suddenly close to tears, unbelieving that the person, _ his _person, is right here, showering him with praise and rough little bite marks over his thighs, pushing his legs up to fold against his chest. 

His cheeks burn as he realizes how vulnerable, how open he is, and Sylvain seems to sense his slight discomfort as he leans up on his arm, shifting his weight to nose into his cheek, sweetly playful. “Hey, shh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs into his lips, and Felix feels like he’s about to melt into the table when his fingers, strong and firm, grasp over the length of him, pumping him gently. 

“Oh, _ oh–“ _

Sylvain chuckles into his neck; Felix can feel the flash of his teeth grinning into his skin. “Baby, you sound so good for me,” he continues, and all he can really do is whimper back, overwhelmed by the sensations rippling through his body. 

The sudden lack of contact is near painful – he keens into the empty space where Sylvain once was, pitiful whines pitching from his lips. Understanding dawns on him quickly, realizing what he’s looking for.

“Top drawer, top drawer–“ he gasps, and he couldn’t give a single shit about how Sylvain’s knocking everything over, papers and pens and ink bottles clattering to the ground. Felix watches with lidded eyes as he slicks his fingers in oil, loosely fisting his cock. He loves the way Sylvain’s flushed, the way he rubs his fingers together, the way he’s half-hard again in his pants.

“I wanna see you, love,” Sylvain murmurs, propping himself up over him again, pushing his nose into his cheek, breath unsteady against the corner of his mouth. Felix turns his face up into his, yearning towards the sunlight that is his soulmate, legs falling open easily for him.

“Fuck, fuck, Syl,” he pants, unthinking, unseeing as Sylvain’s fingers graze over his own over his cock, prying his hand off and dragging it up to cup against the side of his freckled jaw. Felix curls his fingertips into him, the only thing grounding him down to reality. Satisfied, Sylvain slides their lips together, one huge hand spanning the back of his thigh, while the other circles his entrance, slick with oil. 

He pulls moan after throaty moan from him with his fingers, and then they’re pouring out of his lips, a dam suddenly burst, when he finally slides a single finger in, tight and hot inside him. He’s positively sobbing into Sylvain’s neck by now, clutching in his hair as he keens into him.

“Fe, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, sweet,” he whispers into his ear, working his finger deep inside him to his second knuckle, pressing softly into that spot in him, the one that makes fireworks go off behind his eyelids as he crooks his fingers up into him. Sylvain lets go of his raised thigh, hitching it against his waist as his other hand comes to cover his cock, smearing fat beads of precum down his length. “So good for me, love.”

The sensation is almost too much, Sylvain’s hands on him, in him, panting against his collarbone. Felix barely registers that he’s shifted so that he’s draped halfway across him, his weight comforting against where his own chest bellows for air. He flicks his eyes down, gaze hazy, the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen – Sylvain, working his cock at a steady pace, fingers burning inside him, a bead of sweat rolling down his nose as he works him hard.

“Lemme hear you, baby,” Sylvain murmurs, coaxing another slew of moans from deep inside him. Felix can feel Sylvain’s cock, hard again against his leg, grinding lightly into him. 

“Please, Sylvain, _ fuck me already._” He demands, doing his best to maintain a level glare at him, but breaking almost immediately as Sylvain twists his fingers _ just so _and he’s moaning hard again, a broken staccato ringing out throughout the shop. 

Sylvain withdraws, pushing the elastic waistband down once more to reveal his cock, hard and weeping against his stomach. Felix watches him palm oil-slick fingers over his length hastily as he scrambles to get on his knees. Sylvain’s fingers pet over his entrance, teasing him mercilessly.

And then he’s pushing into him, and he’s seeing stars, and the tip of him is catching and dragging along the slick heat inside, and _ oh– _he’s burning, he’s on fire, he’s evaporated off this planet–

“God, Fe, you feel so good,” Sylvain pants above him, and Felix thinks about how _ Sylvain _feels so good he could cry before faintly registering the slow roll of tears down his cheeks, eyelashes clumping together wetly. “So beautiful, so good,” Sylvain chants out as he pumps into him, dragging a little deeper with each progressive thrust.

“Oh, close,” he manages to pant out, barely, arching his back up off the table and into Sylvain’s hips, hands grabbing anywhere he can find purchase, finally settling to dig his fingernails into his hipbones. He pulls him as close as he can, needing to feel every single bit of him.

“Yeah, wanna make you feel good,” Sylvain’s hands stroke along his cock, in time with his thrusts, and time slows down again as he reaches his free hand up to press, gently, tenderly, bruisingly into his mark–

Time stops for Felix as he tenses hard around Sylvain, vision whiting out, trembling and shaking and sobbing as Sylvain presses into that perfect spot inside him right in time for his fingers to press into his mark, sending lightning bolts through his body, scorching his skin, shocking his system. He cums harder than he ever has in his life, hips jerking erratically as Sylvain continues to pump into him, flush against his ass when he finally slows and twitches his release, slow and hot inside of him. 

“_Sylvaaain,_” he moans softly, barely coherent enough to register Sylvain’s breathy voice, deep where it dips into his ear, _ yes, cum for me, just like that, you’re so tight, so perfect, God, yes Fe, yes. _

When he comes to, he realizes that they’ve collapsed against each other, Sylvain slumped over him in a boneless, dazed haze. It isn’t comfortable, not by a long shot, so he pushes and pulls Sylvain gently so that he’s nuzzled into his chest, both of them still perched precariously on the tattoo table. 

Sylvain brings his hands to wrap him up close, tender and sweet, running across his hair, stroking circles into his hip with the pad of his thumb. ”Oh, love,” Sylvain mumbles, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of his face, chest still bellowing from his efforts. Felix slips himself in closer to Sylvain, feeling thoroughly blissed out despite the mess – his stomach painted white, oil smeared across both of them, Sylvain dripping out of him. 

“Sylvain,” he whimpers again, feeling needy. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, but it feels… _ good_. Something about Sylvain, his broad chest caging him in, hands stroking down the side of his face to push his sweaty bangs away, makes him feel completely at home. “Felix,” he returns, dropping soft kisses wherever he can reach. Felix leans into him as they both come down from their peak slowly, exhausted and overwhelmed.

–

After their mess has been cleaned up and they’re both properly clothed again, he locks up the shop, the neon open sign whining down to a dim glow as it powers down. Sylvain’s hands wrap around his hips, only minorly distracting as he presses butterfly kisses to the nape of his neck. The sheer domesticity of it makes his head spin as he turns back, a soft smile on his lips. 

He can’t stop thinking about the tender way Sylvain cleaned him up afterwards, lovingly murmuring words of affection over his skin – and the way he’d returned the favor, swiping the remainder of the blurred purple outline from his neck, smiling impishly as it made him gasp and his cock twitch in his joggers. Where his soulmark had once been nothing but a nuisance, a reminder of a life he was missing out on… he could already tell it was going to be, well, _ fun_, to put it lightly.

“I’m so glad Ashe told me about this place,” Sylvain teases into his neck, and Felix’s heart skips for about the thousandth time that day as he turns around in his arms to stare up at him. “A-Ashe?” his tongue twists over his friend’s name – surely he can’t be talking about the same person…?

“Yeah,” Sylvain smiles, more blindingly bright than the sun itself. “He’s an old friend from college. I told him I was– was thinking about covering it up. He asked his boyfriend to give me a couple of recs, your shop was the first one on his list.”

“Oh. Dedue?” Sylvain looks down at him, an adorable expression of mild shock on his face that quickly transitions into amusement, his dimple making an appearance as he grins at him. “Oh God. I think we’ve been set up.” 

Felix blushes, nosing his way into Sylvain’s chest to huff a quiet laugh. He already knows that he’s never going to get sick of the way they fit together like this.

“Mm. It appears we have,” he returns dryly, unable to even summon up one iota of anger at his friend for going behind their backs. Hell, he needs to send Ashe and Dedue flowers or _ something _, he thinks as Sylvain laughs, bright as a bell, and Felix drinks in the sound with a small smile pressed into his chest. 

“My place?” He asks shyly, wrapping his fingers through the coarse tangle of Sylvain’s auburn locks, pressing up on tiptoe to peck a kiss to his lips. Sylvain sighs happily, bending to rub his hands across his lower back, nuzzling his nose down into his neck.

“Yes. _ Yes_, of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> now with art! https://twitter.com/cherryconke/status/1191728075853246464?s=21
> 
> follow me on twitter @cherryconke for more sylvix/fe3h smutty goodness (:


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